Kharvathar had managed to rise to his feet after the furious roar, but his knees buckled and he fell forward onto the cracked rocky ground. He braced himself with the palms of his hands, shoulders rigid.
"Curse it!" His head throbbed and his chest burned; his mind processed the shift in the "Meanings," while his soul adapted to the body. He looked around—the sunlight was blinding. He could see where he was, and beyond the destruction, he saw the small beings. But he was no longer looking down from above, as he once had.
"I am their size…" His eyes widened. Confusion and doubt formed a toxic blend that now defined him. He still could not grasp what it meant, but his newfound capacity for thought was 'teaching him the change.' He stared at his strange body and extended his arms, flexing and unflexing his fingers.
"I can control my paw better… or rather…" The answer came unbidden in his mind. "Hand. That is the correct name now." It was all absurd to him.
He lifted his head and fixed his gaze on the man standing about fifteen meters away, near the edge of the crater. The stranger held a black blade etched with golden designs. Setarek stared back in terror. Kharvathar looked farther: there was Ishara, the hooded elf, in the same state. Uras'Diptsur stood motionless on the stairs leading to a larger structure behind him. And he noticed yet more armed beings perched on the raised stones lining the area.
"Humans," he understood. All this while his mind raced, his wide eyes no longer seeing as far as before—he felt as though he had been blinded. Amputated.
"What have you done to me?" he shouted, his voice hoarse and unfamiliar, as though his vocal cords had no experience forming words. It was the cry of a creature twisted against its will. Everyone who heard it grew even more frightened—and they did not understand the words spoken.
"Kill him now, Setarek!" the elf cried from a distance, pulling back the sleeves of her cloak and scooping sand from the ground. "Vindhter, firtineli!" She scattered the handful; as the grains fell between her fingers, white, sandy chains erupted from the earth around Kharvathar, binding him like serpents. Ishara gasped from the sunlight on her exposed arms. The fallen dragon struggled and roared:
"Grrhr, what is this?" He thrashed against the restraints. Setarek exhaled, shedding his fear for a look of grim determination. Trusting the legend of the sword, he charged at full speed while the demon writhed in the sand chains. Not from lack of strength, but from the alien strangeness of his form, Kharvathar shattered one chain only for another to take its place. Though he sensed Setarek's approach, the inner conflict hindered him.
"Die!" the fearless warrior shouted and struck. The black iron sword rang with the screech of metal on metal as it met Kharvathar's neck. No cut. No blood.
Their eyes locked. The Nasndernian warrior leaped back as the monster's arm rose to seize him.
"Human, how dare you!" Kharvathar's eyes blazed with fury. Setarek did not understand the words, but he understood the hatred. The magic had dispersed; Ishara had fallen to her knees beside a large shattered stone, her arms already covered, breathing in quiet agony.
"I can do nothing in this form," the woman panted, watching the fallen demon—now free—from afar.
Setarek held his guard, retreating in alarm as his soldiers shouted. More arrows flew from crossbows and bows. More Nasndernian warriors—infantry this time, summoned from other parts of the capital—finally arrived at the site. They kept their distance at the command of the Son of the Setting Sun.
"It had no effect…" The dark-skinned warrior stared at the sword. It had been useless; it had not slain as the legend promised. His gaze shifted to the gray humanoid with long hair standing before him. The arrows were futile, though the soldiers loosed more. Kharvathar moved with difficulty—his legs responded unevenly, throwing off his balance, and the ruined, bifurcated terrain only made it worse. The attacks struck him but did not pierce; they only fueled his rage.
"Should I try again?" Setarek thought, breaking into a cold sweat. That instant when he had stared into the creature's eyes had been terrifying—he had never felt such fear. Kharvathar, meanwhile, ground his sharp teeth; his yellow eyes glowed like embers when the clouds parted from the sun.
"Stop!" His rage swelled. His legs moved faster now, steadier—he was learning quickly—and he advanced to attack.